


Blue Snow

by Danaknowsitall



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Cuddles, Dreams, Emotional, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Kinda fairygodmother, Light Angst, Sickness, christmas day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28501260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danaknowsitall/pseuds/Danaknowsitall
Summary: Christmas Eve brought a strange visitor to the King household.
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	Blue Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EndoratheWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/gifts).



> Thank you to Endorathewitch for all her wonderful work and stories!!!

With the fogged up glass, snow-marked corners of the windows, the entire flat seemed like the inside of a snow globe. The fairy lights above the Tele, over the cupboards and around the tree, pulsated on and off with their bright colours, lighting up Bog's face as he slept with his head on the back of the settee, his mouth hanging open, a light snore rising from his long nose.

Her head on his lap, Marianne watched the banked flames in the fireplace, dozing in and out of light sleep. She had been sick the past week with bad flu, and Bog, bless his soul, had fussed about her so much he stayed up much of the previous night when the fever was highest. He was on the brink of driving her to the hospital when the fever finally broke and lowered.

Still, her husband couldn't sleep until Marianne was in the healthy temperature range again, making Christmas Eve into a white night.

Sighing and snuggling further into the warm tartan fleece blanket her mother in law had gifted her the year before, Marianne tucked her head deeper into Bog's lap, her mind the clearest its been in days. Sleepy but aware, Marianne smiled at the warm palm resting on her head, where Bog laid his hand. He stroked her asleep, the way he knew she liked, comforting and loving.

Marianne debated whether she ought to get up, now she's feeling better, and wrap Bog's presents—a fancy new watch she saved for months to buy, a new Christmas jumper that matched one she bought herself, and the latest X-Box game he had been eyeing—when a noise from the fireplace alerted her to the fact something might not be as peaceful and quiet as she thought.

Rather than wake Bog, Marianne staggered to her feet, catching the blanket and tucking it around his shoulders before turning towards the hearth.

She was dizzy, swaying slightly in place, her head feeling a bit too big for her body.

She knelt at hearthrug, moving aside the grate the covered it and tried not to vomit at the way the room spun when she lowered her head to look inside.

A few spots of sizzling sparks let her know it either begun snowing or raining outside, the water dripping down the chimney. Marianne was about to rise, swallowing down bile, when she heard the noise again.

It almost… almost sounded like singing.

Yeah… she was sure it was singing.

_"I don't want a lot for Christmas,_

_There is just one thing I need,_

_I don't care about the presents,_

_Underneath the Christmas tree."_

Fascinated by the voice, enchanting and ethereal, even more so than Mariah Carey herself, Marianne bent lower, tilting her head to hear the rest of the song.

A song that had become louder.

_"I don't need to hang my stocking,_

_Thereupon the fireplace,_

_Santa Claus won't make me happy,_

_With a toy on Christmas Day."_

"Hello?" Marianne called softly into the fireplace, wondering whether she had in fact fallen asleep and is dreaming. Why would anyone shout into a burning fireplace, otherwise? Feeling more than a little insane, she scooted closer, peering just above the low flames.

_"I just want you for my own,_

_More than you could ever know,_

_Make my wish come true,_

_Baby,_

_All I want for Christmas is you."_

"That's a good song and all, but who's there?" Marianne raised her voice to a natural level and gave up on reality after deciding this was a dream. She hoped the mysterious entity will make itself known before she woke up. This was bound to be an intriguing story to tell Bog come morning. They always made a point of telling each other their dreams and work out what they may mean—and this one seems particularly interesting.

There were a high pitched giggle and a cloud of blue dust trickling out of the brick-built hearth in reply. Slowly at first, like softly falling snow, it came. But then the dust increased in its intensity, swirling like a mini-tornado before Marianne.

Coughing at the tickling sensation in her throat, and quieting down again when Bog muttered something about honey and ginger tea, Marianne choked a little more. From her blurry, tear-filled eyes, she saw a shape materialise out of the cloud. It was distinctly feminine—all curves and slim limbs, her body moving in a way Marianne thought was just that little bit off. All around her were wisps of white cloth and sheer fabrics covering the shimmering skin that sparkled like snow under the sun.

The figure spun in place, slowing the tornado around her down until the blue mist was suspended in midair, held up like stars in the sky.

She was beautiful, her features not quite human, but somehow more human than anything Marianne had ever seen—large, liquid blue eyes, her nose small and perfect, the mouth set in a gentle smile when she caught sight of the human kneeling on the floor.

The woman, if such a word can be used on this entity, had long, white hair, bound by a high-pointed diamond tiara, flowing around her head as if in water, shifting delicately along with her motions.

The last spin brought her down to the floor, where her bare toes glowed on Marianne's hand-made, woven carpet.

"Whoa…" was all Marianne could say. She felt incredibly inadequate, faced with this otherworldly creature.

Was she supposed to ask her to have a cup of tea? Or maybe a mince pie? Would she want a tangerine?

The questions were on the tip of Marianne's tongue when the spell of her magical entry shattered.

"Well, then. What have we got here?"

The woman spoke, her high, clear voice businesslike and matter-of-fact to such extent that all Marianne could do was gape.

"Eh?" she replied uncomprehendingly.

"Oh, you poor thing!" The blue alien or whatever she was, exclaimed, her hands—which Marianne noted to have only three fingers and a thumb, all far too long to be human—went to her shimmering cheeks, her liquid eyes growing wide with dramatic alarm. "Look at the state of you!"

"Huh?"

"You look simply awful!" she gestured to Marianne's less than fresh clothes and wild hair.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." At the dispiriting words, Marianne deflated more. She knew she looked a state, and now a beautiful alien fairy pointed out just how much of a mess she really was.

_Jeez, I get insulted by pretty much myself in my own dream. Nice work, Brain. Nice work._

"Don't be silly. This isn't a dream," the alien fairy scolded, floating closer as she answered the unspoken thoughts. The cloud of glitter hovering around her moved too, swirling like a constellation. "I'm here, and you're here, and we have some business to go over."

Marianne was brought up with unseen forces to her feet with a sound of multiple tiny bells, her brain rattling around in her skull with the last residues of her fever. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" she protested. "I don't like being manhandled, thanks very much! I'm perfectly capable of getting to my own two feet by myself!"

Behind her, Bog let out a sharp snore at the sound of her irate voice. Guilty at her tone, Marianne turned to see her husband roll his head from one side to the other, grinding his teeth in his sleep.

"Don't worry about him. He can't see me, unlike you." The magical alien tried to reassure her, though her words were less than reassuring. _The hallucination is admitting to being a hallucination. That's just peachy._

"I don't get it. What is happening?" Fed up, Marianne addressed the alien woman fully, frowning at how those unsettling eyes stared and the way she smiled at her. The shock of her entry receded, and now annoyance at the intrusion had replaced the awe. 

"Oh, I've come for a multitude of reasons, but for now I want to remind you of a few things." With a wave of her glowing blue hand, she manifested a floating seat, on which she promptly sat. Reclined on her La-Z-Boy, she looked like the world beyond's psychologist.

" _Eh_??"

"Marianne Fairchild, when you were ten, did you or did you not rescue a drowning cat from a deep, frozen puddle?" She glanced at a solid stone clipboard suddenly in her hands, and Marianne felt the world tilt sideways. 

"Do sit, my dear. You're not quite recovered from your illness, and in your condition, you're liable to fall down and hurt yourself." A twitch of overlong blue fingers and Marianne found herself in a similarly hovering chair.

"Who… what… _are_ you?..." she breathed out. This night had taken a turn to the insane, and some questions needed answering ASAP.

"I am your fairy godmother, obviously!" The alien fairy rolled her eyes.

" _Seriously_?"

"No. There are no such things as fairy godmothers. Your human movies are ridiculous. Do you see tinnie little bug wings on me and those silly looking hats and wands?" She gestured to herself and the magnificence of her figure.

"Um… no?" Marianne answered, her expression uncomfortable.

"I am the spirit of Benevolence and Goodwill. I've come to return the cosmic debt owed to you."

"You're joking. What kind of dream is this?"

The spirit, alien, fairy whatever slowly raised her glittery eyebrows. "This is no dream, Marianne Fairchild," she said, using Marianne's maiden name, her tone levelled and intentional. "This is real, and, my little sugar cube, you best get used to it." 

Suddenly a qualm hit Marianne, making the previous dizziness and nausea return. "But this can't be real… These things don't just happen to people…" She leaned her head back, closing her eyes and trying to subdue the sudden sickness. Without seeing anything, the chair felt like any other reclining armchair she'd ever sat on, but far more comfortable. She could almost sink into it… Maybe fall asleep…

"Oy! We're not done here!"

A light snore rose out of Marianne's nose when she jolted awake again. "Wha…?"

"All right, how about this: normally I am required to go over the good, selfless deeds you've done in your life as a roll call to prepare you for your received gift," the spirit said, the shiny, liquefied texture of her face rippling till it formed sympathy and understanding in its features. "But I'll just skip it and get to the point so you can go back to sleep and do whatever you were doing before I arrived."

"Yeah, sure, sure. Sounds great—let me know how that goes, hm?" Curling on her side, Marianne waved her hand at the otherworldly creature, too exhausted to mind what the dream figure said. 

"Well… I suppose you'll find out soon enough," the spirit said kindly, but Marianne had already fallen asleep.

***

When morning came, Marianne told Bog of her strange dream.

"—and she just sat there, in all her blue glowingness, and told me I was basically deserving of a reward for doing good deeds or something." Marianne turned her head to the roaring fire from her seat on the settee, still seeing the vivid blue snow and the alien fairy she dreamed of. Her expression showed just how much she was willing to believe in cosmic debts and spirits of goodwill and such rubbish.

"Ye have done a lot of good in the firm over the years," Bog remarked, mixing the Yorkshire pudding batter in his arms and leaning his bum on the counter so they could continue the conversation.

He stood in the middle of their kitchen from across the room, the open floor plan allowing the exchange to go on undisturbed. Due to her sickness, Marianne's family have made other arrangements, postponing the dinner they were meant to have at her and Bog's flat to New Year's eve. Only Griselda would be arriving, but seeing as they had a turkey and ingredients already bought, Bog had been cooking. He unquestionably refused Marianne's offers of help, claiming that she ought to rest and recuperate even if the fever has gone.

In truth, Marianne didn't argue too much past the first few times. Too exhausted, dizzy and wobbly, she only had gone to shower, with Bog hovering like a mother bird. It was the wash that reminded her of the dream—specifically the way the strange woman exclaimed at the state of her appearance.

From the other side of the glass divider, she called for Bog—who sat on the closed lid of the toilet reading the news on his phone—and began telling him all about it.

Half an hour later it was mid-morning, and Bog filled a big mug to the brim with homemade ginger, lemon, and honey tea in her hands with a plate of plain ginger biscuits, and went to work on Christmas dinner.

At first, Marianne simply watched him, her teeth digging into her lower lip. The flannel pyjama pants he wore needed replacing as the elastic band that held them up was going limp, but she couldn't bring herself to throw them away.

They rode on his hips just that little bit too low—and when he lifted his arms to reach for the mixing bowl on a high shelf, the toned, flat belly showed with a mouthwatering line of pale skin and curly dark hair under the long tee. 

Marianne forgot all about her tea and biscuits and found herself sliding behind her gorgeous husband to run hands over the bare skin of his stomach.

"Mari…Marianne… ye know ye should be resting…" he scolded half-heartedly, his voice showing a distinct strain.

"Hmmm…"

The metal bowl fell to the granite counter with a loud clatter when her hands reached a little too low.

"Oooooooohoookay—" he choked out, chuckling and bending forward to unlock her arms.

"Ye sneaky wee thing. Back to the comfy sofa and throw for ye." Bog twisted around, picking her up from her bum. Happy to have distracted him, Marianne wrapped her legs around his slim waist, squeezing despite her rapidly growing state of tiredness.

Bog settled with Marianne on his lap on the sofa in a whoosh, reaching to the side to grab and wrap the big, soft blanket around her shoulders.

"There ye go. All tucked up," he muttered to himself, his Scottish burr thickening. He ran his large hands over his wife, eyes skirting all over her form to make sure nothing was exposed to the air.

"Tell me more about yer dream," Bog requested when he was done with his inspection.

Marianne landed on his chest, sighing contently, fully aware he sought to distract her.

It worked—the warm and soothing presence of her husband were more than enough to allow her to relax and she obligingly did he as asked. "Well…" she went over it again.

By the time she recounted the entire thing, and Bog made the comment about her work in the non-profit legal firm she worked in—hours of volunteering legal advice and advocacy to people and causes that either couldn't afford it or had nowhere else to turn—Marianne had finished her drink and snack. She was more than ready for a hearty meal, as she ate little to nothing over the past week. Sniffing the turkey cooking in the oven, Marianne almost salivated.

A pressure in her bladder told her a trip to the bathroom was needed, and she twisted round to stand.

Just then, as if her stomach was nothing more than a piece of paper, it folded on itself, and Marianne found herself with a rising gorge and a desperate need to go where it wouldn't make a mess.

She only just barely made it to the toilet, emptying the meagre contents of her stomach into the ceramic bowl.

Hot on her tail, Bog inhaled sharply as he saw the mess.

"Are ye alright?" he asked, too worried to realise she was a little beyond replying at that moment. "Love, are ye well?"

" _Blegh—_ ”

"Marianne, what's the matter? Oh, wait, ye can't answer, right." Bog rubbed a soothing hand over her back, tucking her hair behind her ear with the other. "It's all right, sweetheart, just get it all out."

"Ugh." Marianne flushed the toilet and closed the lid, turning to the sink to rinse her mouth out. How odd—while the vomit rose instantly and without warning, there was no pain or discomfort from throwing up other than the action itself. Now her stomach was empty, she felt the same as she had before.

She said as much to Bog once she could, and he frowned, his heavy eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Are ye sure? We can call the doctor for consultation—"

"No, No—no doctors. There's no need!" Marianne stood up, a little woozy, but she masked it with a wide smile. "I'm fine, see?"

Bog hummed, suspicion and doubt mingling on his face while his eyes squinted. "Yeah… I'm not so su—"

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Ah, look! It's your mother. I better go let her in." Marianne hurried to the front door, preparing to open the building's entrance for Griselda.

"Fine. Have it yer way," he sighed, accepting the fact his wife was not about to give in.

***

"You see the trick to the bread sauce, darling?" Griselda instructed Marianne, clad in her dressing gown and warm slippers per Bog's scowling demand, as she sat on the kitchen chair.

The older woman chatted away, completing all the dinner preparations Bog didn't know or simply didn't bother doing. Some were even scandalous according to her.

"What do you mean, you don't use the turkey fat for the gravy?" she exclaimed, using one hip to nudge her far taller son out of the way to spoon out of the liquid standing at the bottom of the tray into the small saucepan she had set aside for gravy. 

It was only a few minutes to dinner, the hour was midday, and the house smelled delightfully of the roast Bog had prepared with his mother. Marianne had been served with nibbles by Griselda, despite Bog's gimlet eye and soft mutters.

She would tutt each time in retaliation, and Marianne, feeling somehow much better and more herself, enjoyed their head-to-head combat.

Opening her mouth to defend Bog against the latest barrage of rebuke over his cooking, hoping to avoid a full-on bake-off war between the two King members, Marianne got assaulted with a mouthful of the pungent scent of buttered brussel sprouts and steamed cabbage.

"Uh, oh," she muttered, making Bog look sharply in her direction, his eyes wide and alarmed.

The same folding feeling came over her, and she flew to the bathroom. Again, her stomach emptied itself in a rush, and she retched until there was nothing left to throw up.

"Marianne…" Already next to her, Bog sat on the bathtub's edge, a wet towel in his hand. He had come in without her noticing, already prepared to help her recover. "Marianne, this isn't normal."

Leaning back until she sat her bum on the bathroom rug, her head to the sink's cupboard, Marianne sighed. "I just… I just don't want to see more doctors."

Over the last few years, both her and Bog had visited enough doctors for a lifetime. Fertility treatments… Injections… Tests after tests after tests. But nothing worked. The wish for a child never came true, no matter how much they tried.

Eventually, they gave up; the crushing defeat and constant ache of failure peaked, but it too, faded as the seasons moved along. It had been over six months since the last doctor they visited had declared conception impossible. "It just can't happen. I'm sorry," he said, wearing a morose expression.

Marianne held on to her tears until they reached the car, prepared for the blow but feeling the pain of it, anyway.

"I know, Love. I know…" Bog slid to the floor next to his wife, wrapping an arm around her. He had been a solid rock throughout everything even though his own disappointment had been palpable. Always patient with the hormonal fluctuations that caused her temper to flare randomly and made her snappy, comforting in times she broke down in tears…

After this long, though, the foreign hormones were out of her system and Marianne, feeling herself again, was reluctant to upset the peace by introducing hospitals and doctors once more to their lives. Even at the expense of her health.

"What's happening, then?" Griselda came to the bathroom's doorway, peeking from around the frame.

Another support pillar in their lives, Griselda struggled with conceiving too; though with better results. She understood what Marianne was going through, and despite her nagging, she had been a wonderful mother-figure and help in hard times.

"Marianne is sick," Bog explained, tucking Marianne's head under his chin and rubbing her shoulders.

"Again?" Griselda came in all the way, her eyebrows scrunching together in thought.

"Maybe the same virus, maybe another. I don't know, Mam…" He pressed a kiss to her hair, and Marianne snuggled deeper into his chest, too tired to do much more.

"Heh. Let's go get a glass of water for the girl, first, shall we?"

***

"Right, then. So." Griselda took a sip out of the tea in her cup. "You've been sick. You recovered. Now you're sick again with something else?" she summed.

"Well… basically." Marianne shrugged, looking to Bog.

They sat on the sofa, Marianne wrapped up in the blanket, and her feet tucked between Bog's legs where he sat beside her.

"Interesting." Griselda walked around the settee and came to a stop by the fireplace, watching the flames.

"Why… what's interesting?" Bog asked, after waiting for a beat too long for his mother to elaborate.

Sighing, she set her cup down on the mantle, facing the couple. "How do you know it's a sickness?"

"People don't just get up and start throwing up Mam." Bog straightened in his seat, prickling in irritation. Usually, he had ample patience for his mother, but just then, Marianne could tell it waned under stress.

"They do in certain situations, Bog." Griselda retorted, her thin eyebrows lifting high. "And it's not an illness, in those cases," she stated plainly as if the answer was obvious.

"I don't get it," Bog grumbled, annoyed.

"Of course you wouldn't, Darling. You're a man." Griselda suddenly grinned, her teeth gleaming. "Isn't that right, Doll?" She turned to Marianne with a gleam in her eye.

Marianne was about to repeat what her husband said, tell her mother-in-law that she had no idea what she was referring to when the older woman's words finally clicked into place.

A sickness that was not an illness. Bog wouldn't get it, because he's a man. Throwing up. Dizziness. Random bouts of nausea.

_Cosmic debt repaid for good deeds._

"No…" Marianne's mouth dropped open, and she gaped at Griselda.

Bog glanced to and from his mother and wife, uncomprehending the silent exchange that just happened between them.

Griselda smiled gently, stepping forward to run a fond hand through Marianne's hair. She bent forward, placed her mouth by the younger woman's ear, and whispered, "Did you have nice dreams last night?"

***

_This is crazy. I've lost my mind, that's what happened._

Marianne groaned out loud at her own idiocy, and from the other side of the door, Bog knocked.

"You all right, Love?"

"Yes, I'm almost done." Marianne pulled her hand out, shaking the thin rectangle off and recapping it.

_There's no way. No way at all this is real. Maybe I'm dreaming?_

"Marianne, can I come in?" Bog's muffled voice was anxious, and the bathroom's handle trembled as if he laid a hand over it.

"Uh, just a second." Scrambling, Marianne completed her business and washed her hands, only then letting Bog in.

He stepped through the threshold, looked once at the upside-down plastic stick and averted his eyes, refocusing on Marianne with concern. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet, chewing the corner of her thumbnail.

Bog said nothing and went to sit beside her on the edge of the bathtub, taking her hand away from her mouth silently and holding it.

"It's already been two minutes."

"I know, Love."

"Should we check?" Turning her head to the side, Marianne caught Bog's eye as she frowned.

"Maybe just leave it for a little bit longer," he said, pursing his lips.

"Yeah…"

"…"

"…"

"How long did this one say to wait?" Bog craned his neck, peering at the innocent rectangle.

"The box said one to three minutes." Marianne checked her phone by the sink, looking at the time. 

"How long has it been now?"

"Umm… about five?"

"…"

"…"

"Maybe… should I check? Or did ye want to do it?"

"Don't know," she murmured, shrugging.

"Well… One of us has to."

"…"

"Should I…"

"No, I'll check," Marianne interjected, already reaching for the stick.

"Okay, Love."

As she held the blue and white pregnancy test in her hand, still upside down, the result hidden from view, she felt a reservation.

"This is crazy," she whispered to it. "Right?"

"Maybe just a little bit." Looking up sharply, she caught Bog's small smile. "But we're here now, aren't we?"

"Yeah…"

Leaning over, Bog rested his head on her shoulder. "Need help?"

Marianne quirked a brow, grinning at the familiar phrase. "No."

Bog, looking pleased with her enjoyment at the inside joke, smiled back warmly. "Go on, then, Tough Girl. You can do it."

Before she could lose the nerve Bog's encouraging smile incited, Marianne flipped the test over.

***

Griselda was checking the roast potatoes when she heard the scream ring through the hallway from the bathroom to the kitchen.

She dropped the oven mitt, straightening up and held a hand to her heart. Then the whooping cheer quickly followed, and on its footsteps was the sound of disbelieving laughing conversation, which ended with sobbing.

Throughout the process, a slow grin bloomed on the older woman's face. Memories of the night she was visited by an otherworldly being, a beautiful blue woman who told her for her many years working as a nurse then later at an adoption agency, were rewarded with the pure-hearted wish she wanted most.

Wiping an errant tear out of the corner of her eye, Griselda wondered whether she ought to tell her son and his wife that the adoption papers they filed for had been approved like she planned to do after dinner, or wait for another day. They would be parents twice over, now…

"A double miracle for both of them, eh?" she mumbled to herself, imagining the glowing spirit sitting by the kitchen counter, checking her long, glittering fingernails with nonchalance. "You did good."

_I know I did._

Though the spirit didn't open her mouth, she lifted her liquid eyes, capturing Griselda in her gaze when the words crossed the mortal woman's mind.

_Take good care of them, will you, Grizzy?_

"You know I will," Griselda replied, sniffing. She watched as the spirit vanished into a quickly dissipating cloud of blue snowflakes that just barely had time to disappear entirely when she saw Bog coming from around the corner, taking long strides in her direction, a huge, proud, beaming smile spread on his wet cheeks.

"Mam! Ye'll never guess!" He wrapped his long arms around his mother, swinging her gently from side to side.

"Oh, I think I might…" she squeaked out. "I think I might."

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t finish this in time for Christmas but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :)


End file.
